Return of Our Country

by David M Burke

  “He said you don’t own your own money?”

  She was direct with her answer. “Yes, he said it’s a new law from the previous administration. Most people don’t own their money once they deposit it in a bank; we only own a promissory note.”

  The reporter turned back to the camera. “And there you have it. Reporting from New York. Back to you, Rachel.”

  “Coming up, we’ll have a comment from former President Malik.”

  Those sitting in the situation room were silent with their own thoughts.

  Moments later they watched the socialist predecessor speak. As usual, he was eloquent in his delivery. Reading from a teleprompter, he said the US must settle its debt with these countries. He added that the US might have to work together collaboratively with their debtors. He explained that the countries needed to be made whole with what was owed to them, and that America must change with the times. He then said the US must get rid of the extreme debt, to stop burdening its people.

  Adam listened to Malik’s remaining remarks about either leaving the issue up to Congress or possibly taking it to the people. “What does all that really mean? He added more debt than almost every President in US history combined.”

  * * *

  By early evening George had called Adam and filled him in on the mostly empty vaults where the gold had once resided. “Sure, we had some gold, but when you net out what we have versus what we owe, as Reagan said, we don’t own an ounce!”

  Adam’s thoughts wandered. I wonder how Krieger and Briggs are doing?

  Chapter 16

  Across town, Brooks sat down opposite his longtime friend from Langley. “It’s been a long time.”

  Herwig answered, “It has.”

  “How’s Cindi and the kids?”

  “They’re good. I have four grandchildren now.”

  “Time flies.” Brooks could see concern in his friend’s eyes. “I’m guessing you didn’t want to see me for a social call.”

  “I wish it was.” Herwig leaned back and waited for the waitress to leave the coffee for his friend. He had ordered it in advance, remembering that Brooks drank it black.

  Brooks’s eyes watched the waitress sway away and, after he was assured she was out of hearing distance, he leaned forward and shifted back to his friend’s immovable gaze.

  Herwig got right to it. “Do you remember Sumner?”

  Brooks thought for only a split second. “Sumner Davis?”

  “Yeah!”

  Brooks acknowledged, “He was a good man.”

  “He was working an undercover assignment and over a month ago now. He didn’t check in. It was a professional hit.”

  Brooks asked, “What was he working on?”

  “That’s the reason I called you. Officially, he was working undercover as a truck driver. The previous administration hired truck drivers.”

  Herwig paused because he wanted to take a step back. He explained, “These truck drivers were bringing illegals from Mexico into the country. You know… the worst of the worst… mostly Muslims from radical sects, mostly trained. We all know they were being brought in to change the voting demographics and orchestrate civil unrest when the time was right. I’m sure you’re aware of the sleeper cells.”

  Brooks nodded. “I know, it wasn’t much of a secret. I still maintain some contacts. So, did that lead him to something else?”

  “Exactly, it was kind of a vetting process,” Herwig said, “and those who kept their mouths shut were promoted to transporting concealed trucks with unidentified cargo across the border.”

  Brooks’s brow furrowed and his head tilted back.

  Herwig had been squeezed out of his position at Langley and had changed jobs just over a year ago. Although he was ready to retire, he had maintained his contacts in the agency. Herwig knew the deep state operatives were repositioning people and eliminating anyone who aligned with the new president. He was smart enough to pretend to be happy with the move. He even went so far as to ensure that his personal computer, the one they knew about, never searched alternative media sites or anything that would indicate he was anything but a loyal globalist, a deep state hold over. He had played his cards right so he could see what the real deep state operatives were up to.

  A moment of tension hung in the air. “He was transporting gold across the border,” said Herwig.

  Brooks processed the information quickly. He instinctively looked around, then asked, “What kind of gold?”

  His worst fear was realized with his friend’s response. “They were smuggling gold bullion out of the country across the southern border.”

  Brooks had his first answer. It wasn’t stolen coins, old coins, or even raw mined gold. It was gold bullion. Now for the next piece of the puzzle. Brooks asked, “Bars?”

  Herwig nodded affirmatively.

  “Were they marked?”

  “Yes.” Herwig paused again. The old Navy man’s tone lowered as he responded with a slow baroque vibration, “With the stamp from our reserves.”

  Brooks’ eyes widened. “They were taking our gold across the border, cleaning out our gold supply from our mints?”

  “Yes… and with everything that’s happening now, that’s why I called you.” The comment hung in the air like death.

  Herwig continued. “They stopped a few months after the election. Davis didn’t know what they were transporting until one of their last shipments. Then, before he could communicate with us again, his team was put on some mundane transports. We were actually thinking about pulling him off the assignment when the entire team was silenced.”

  Brooks gazed at his friend. The stakes had just escalated exponentially.

  Herwig shifted in his seat. “There’s someone we need to go see.”

  Chapter 17

  The E6 Staff Sergeant Johnson was slumped over the right arm of his maroon La-z-boy recliner. His limp body was still warm. There was a half full glass of protein shake within his reach on the end table, which was splattered with blood. Dressed in sweat pants and a damp t-shirt, he must have just finished working out. The position of his drink and the fact that he was in his chair, indicated that he had either been totally caught by surprise, very unlikely for an ex-field operative of his caliber, or that he knew the assassin.

  Brooks and Herwig both had the same instinct: it must have been someone he knew. Since it appeared that the deep state was orchestrating something, the pieces fit.

  The killer had executed a perfectly placed shot from very close range. It was most likely from a suppressed weapon. It was obviously a professional hit.

  Herwig knew the Director had been expecting him, along with a friend. When they arrived, Herwig rang the doorbell twice. No one answered. They could hear music playing unusually loudly for this time of the morning. They cautiously stepped in through the unlocked door.

  Brooks had already unsheathed his Sig P229. It had a stainless-steel slide. Herwig reached to his side and pulled out his preferred Sig 911 max 45 cal. Designed by world speed shooting champion Max Michael Jr, it was personalized for Herwig with a flat trigger, Koening speed hammer, special sliding, and fiber optic front and rear sights. It gave Herwig a small cannon, specifically designed to be a knock down gun at close range. Herwig had gone to this after he’d moved on from his position at the CIA headquarters. He knew the deep state was getting more desperate and, since he’d already had one knee replaced, he was slower than he used to be.

  Herwig motioned. They each went in opposite directions to clear the house.

  Nothing appeared to be out of place.

  Johnson had meticulously managed communication for several Special Forces teams. He wasn’t a part of the entry teams any more, those days were over. He had decided it was time to let the younger studs have their time. He had transitioned into communications for them. Like a newly retired football coach, he
had garnered instant credibility for having played the game at a high level for many years. He knew the business. He knew the good players and many of the bad. He was the main reason his now dead friend, Davis, had infiltrated into the trucking operation.

  Now they were both dead, Herwig thought, as he cleared rooms. He walked slowly, quietly, with his weapon held up in ready position.

  If the assassin was a deep state operative, he must have received his order from high up. A hit like this would garner an investigation.

  If it wasn’t a deep state operative, who else could it be and what could be the motive? Could it have been a hit from another case?

  Herwig knew of no reason from the recent past. This was the only mission Johnson was working. Whoever it was would have to be an expert to sneak up on a man like this, music or no music. Johnson had just finished working out, he would have been in a heightened state of awareness. All these questions and answers were beginning to substantiate the conclusion Herwig had made in a split second.

  Brooks noted the house was neat. There appeared to be a place for everything and everything in its place. This was typical of communications experts. Most items were even placed square to the corner they adjoined. This man was meticulous.

  Steadily working their way through every room, the men swept the first floor. They met at the base of the stairs. With the first floor clean, The Shadow motioned for Herwig to follow him up the stairs.

  After clearing what appeared to be a guest bedroom and bath, they headed towards the master bedroom.

  Nothing appeared out of place in the master or the master closet or bath.

  Herwig stood by the shower in the master bath. He motioned for Brooks to come over to cover him.

  Brooks walked over and Herwig turned and stepped up on the tile ledge. He pulled out his utility knife. No sooner had Herwig begun scraping grout when Brooks knew how much this young agent must have meant to Johnson.

  It was Brooks who had taught Herwig the mantra that the master teaches a few of his favorite techniques to only one person he’s mentoring. That person must be his most trusted and valued friend. By teaching each technique to only one person, the master would know who it was, should he ever be compromised. This agent must have been one of Herwig’s most trusted friends. Brooks himself had learned the technique from a master who had busted the most notorious Russian spy that had ever compromised the US. The authorities had little evidence on the Russian. It had only been luck that had led them to the hiding place.

  Behind a picture was a string that that led down the wall. At the bottom of that string was more intelligence than any five spies had ever gotten put together.

  With modern technology being what it was, retrieval devices could be easily detected. That was what the murderer had most likely used when he’d swept Johnson’s house. With the hiding place alongside the copper pipes in the wall, anything detected would be suspected to be the water pipe leading to the shower head.

  Brooks watched as Herwig removed the tile and carefully pulled on the string. It, too, was a thick monofilament fishing line, although not braided. Slowly, his friend retrieved something.

  Herwig put the plastic bag in his coat, then replaced the tile tightly. He replaced as much grout as he could, and wiped it with a towel.

  As they walked slowly down the stairs and were heading towards the door, Brooks stopped. There, on the floor by the StairMaster, was a white band. As he drew closer, it looked like a wrist band that had been thrown in the corner. This was out of place.

  The Shadow had been careful not to touch anything in the home, but now he picked up the wrist band. On the inside, he found a small folded note.

  Chapter 18

  Krieger and Briggs had flown in the day before from D.C. Now, they sat watching the suspects coming in and out of the large warehouse in Dearborn, Michigan. They were just a short distance from Woodward Avenue where, once a year, people came from around the country to the largest car show in the world. Dearborn was also home of the largest Muslim community in North America.

  Back in DC, Mauricio commanded the private communication center supporting Krieger and Briggs over a secure network.

  With Adam by his side, Mauricio explained the situation. “The satellite surveillance indicates that the National Distribution Center, or NDC as we call it, is still at full capacity. But the traffic has increased dramatically over the past few days.”

  “So, the increased traffic could indicate that they’re planning something. Am I hearing correctly that there’s no indication that we’ve been compromised?” Krieger’s eyes scanned over several screens that broadcast views from each side of the warehouse.

  “As far as we can tell, they haven’t suspected a thing. And, yes, this increased traffic is definitely unusual and indicative of a heightened sense of alertness and preparation. But large shipments haven’t gone out. So, we anticipate that some large shipments are about to be made,” Mauricio said.

  “How come we know so much about this operation?” Adam asked.

  Mauricio explained, “Some people during the previous administration found out that it was the main National Distribution Center for munitions and drugs. But the higher-ups never did anything about it. It was explained to us that at least they knew where it was, and that made it less risky. If anything were to happen, they’d be able to take appropriate action.”

  “But they never did,” Adam commented smartly.

  “Yeah, they all knew it was here,” Mauricio said with equal disdain. “With the previous administration in obvious alignment with the radical Muslim world, we had reason to believe they gave the clerics in the area a heads-up to be aware that there might not be the same level of tolerance for their drug and munitions running. So, we shut down the surveillance. Then we opened up this operation with our own team. The Colonel put boots on the ground without the deep state knowing we were here. We have sources who’ve verified that their leaders believe their operations are functioning without being compromised. Since we opened up this operation, we’ve learned a lot more about theirs.”

  “Like what?” Adam questioned.

  “Like the fact that this small arms and drug NDC supplies most of the Midwest and the east coast. They’re more sophisticated than we thought. We’ve even uncovered the shortest route modeling method they used to choose this location. Let me show you.”

  Mauricio zoomed in on a large screen showing a map of Michigan, and used an electronic pointer. “Sir, you can see their location here. They take their drugs and go north on I-75, where they take this less traveled route, M15, north to I-69 east. That takes them to Port Huron, where they put their goods on cargo ships to transport to Montreal, Toronto and most of the east coast at much less cost and lower risk than trucking. Then, to supply Chicago, Milwaukee, and most of the other cities in the northern Midwest, they go west on I-69 and go to the shipping ports on the west side of the state. From there, they ship through the Great Lakes.”

  “So, you’re telling me that they did an economic analysis to keep their costs down?” Adam questioned.

  Mauricio nodded. “Yes, sir, they sure did.”

  “Why haven’t we seen any terrorism or civil unrest in this area?”

  Krieger’s voice came through the secure line to address Adam’s question. “Good question, sir. When you look at the size of their operations and the span of things going on in this area, there’s much more here than this gun and drug running. It’s a cultural hub. It’s been a haven for radical Islamic traffic. The last thing they want is to bring a level of attention that would compromise their business interests. They need money to survive and thrive. That’s why they haven’t conducted any attacks here in Michigan. They’re the supply line,’ Krieger said. “It’s actually a well devised and orchestrated tactic.”

  Krieger felt it important for Adam to know why he wanted him there with Mauricio. “Mr. Vice P
resident, we asked you to be here because social unrest is being orchestrated in the cities, and the chatter indicates that this is just the beginning. We know that these are the drugs and arms that will fuel the violence. Our original intent was to wait until the border was closed to hit this distribution center. But now we believe they’ll increase shipments to supply their counterparts in major cities across the north central and northeast.”

  Krieger let that sink in for a second and added, “Sir, as you’re already aware, we picked up two people in Tennessee two days after the Vegas shooting. Well, we also tracked a few back to this location and we believe two flew out of the Detroit airport. It’s not only their hub for drugs and guns, it’s their safe zone where they feel at home.”

  Adam knew of the Muslim connection to the Vegas massacre through Saudi Arabia. The President had mandated that the Saudi king purge his empire of the radicals that were involved. Adam thought he understood what Krieger was implying but asked, “So, what’s your opinion, Colonel?”

  Krieger answered. “My opinion, sir, is that we hit this place before they make their next shipments. We have reason to believe they’re preparing to make some large ones. The traffic around the area has increased dramatically. Some medium sized box trucks have been parked in surrounding areas. As soon as they ship, we’ll be spread thinner than we already are. We’ll have more vehicles to track. The fewer people who are aware of this, the less risk of a leak. At least here we can hit just one location. We’ll cut their funding so they can’t keep buying off local politicians. On top of that, we’ll stop this stockpile of guns from getting into the wrong hands. We want an armed and educated public, not a bunch of terrorists trying to outgun patriots.”

  Mauricio wanted to clarify for the Vice President. “Sir, we have cut eighty percent of border traffic and, as long as we maintain that, we’ll have made a significant impact on reducing ongoing supplies of drugs and guns.”